Reservoir of Tears

Reservoir of tears
aqueduct of word
release an angry flood
meaning becomes blurred

Bursting opened taps
short vessels made of clay
gushing on the floor
encasement to betray

Floorboards soaked expand
no longer toured with ease
watch out for lilting planks
slowing down our speed

Now in laboured love
mop and pail in hand
reserving wasted words
reclaiming tears unplanned

Together, as a pair
working, side by side
we’ll fix the broken pipes
turn off destructive tides

Buckets brimming full
water garden beds
washing grunge from panes
also grimy heads

Still important words
filled with precious tears
one ladle at a time
preserved for drought years

©2020 Mary Grace van der Kroef

“Reservoir of Tears” originally appeared in Issue II of the Kitchen Sink Magazine.

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Red Lollypop

I think I want a
red one. Wrapped in plastic.
Sticky sugar treat.

Plastic never comes
clean off. Always a remnant
to pick, flick away.

Remember not to
run, paper stick hanging from
a happy red grin.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Six Word Stories (56)

It usually surprises people when I tell them, “I do not care for the Christmas season.”
“Arn’t Christians supposed to love Christmas?”

I guess most of them do, but I can’t help but feel an emptiness behind the brightly covered packages and glitz this world throws around during the holiday season. Expectations are high, but things never seem to pan out the way I mean them to. So why write about this now that the Holidays are over, and becoming a memory?

Because the light of Christmas is not supposed to stay locked into a few weeks of the year. The person of Jesus Christ grew and walked away from the manger, taking his flame of light to the very valley of death.

So today I choose to remind myself that though a modern Christmas leaves me empty, and ancient Christ fills me with light.

Look beyond how culture paints things to deep roots.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Photos sourced from

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Blue is like
the rising tide.
A constant,
holding certain pride.

Its hues are cold,
sharp as glass.
They give life
as by they pass.

Both deep and dark
vibrant shades,
are gentled when
with time, they fade.

Leaves a kiss
of chilling bliss,
that lingers
bluebells mid mist.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Cold Toes

Toes, dressed against
cold. Still chilled and damp, remind
movement is a must.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Uncracked Spine

Books beg to be read
as their pages whisper,
syllables of loneliness.

“Love me,
as I love the touch of your hands
on my untracked spine.”

“Choose me.
Let me linger in your mind
as slow sipped wine.”

Once the pages open,
words walk through soul.
Hook, to your whole.

Tethering other’s stories
to what makes you,

“Meet me,
in pages of cream,
Through ink dark as dreams.”

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Not Alone

The trod of booted
Never lift a face
to great.
Hands in pockets
One block left
to defeat.

Alone yet not
Carrying thoughts like
Hunching shoulders
Coming night, the

But something is
An aura somehow,
Wholly real, so
Yet hidden by a
misty screen.

It shimmers on the
Surrounding like a
Embodiment of a
Leading away from the

A gentle hand at
When it’s fight or
Reminding of the
To walk through lonely

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Calm Snow

A blanket of cold.
Gentle, as it floats from grey
Enclosed sky. Now sleep.

God given layers
cover natures dieing throws.
Dignity at end.

a slow giving up of self
back into the web.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Leftover Pizza

Like pizza fresh from the oven
A melding of flavors, a comforting texture
In the moment

Like chilled leftovers,
Tasting every vegetable separately
The kick of cold sauce
Heat of chilled pepperoni
Chewy crust that requires a rip while taking a bite.

Happy memory
An expirience enjoyed
Bits and pieces saved for later

Thank God for leftover pizza.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Another one just for fun.

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Walking Socks

Holes in socks
Speak of walks.

Wrapped in leather,
Tied up tight.
Perspirations staining fright
And the stink.

Holes on soles,
Or heal,
Or toes,
Tell a tale of travelers’ woes.

A mile farther than planned.
Foot sore still,
Bend to paths commands

Pull them off at end of day.
Or simply throw away?

One inside the others fold.
Oder controlled.

Dumped upon the bed at last.
Remnants of times now past.

Crusted with old sweat.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Just a bit of fun.

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